


you can't see, you've got it bad

by kettering



Series: i'll sing your name in every line [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, aspiring musician!zayn, musician!liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettering/pseuds/kettering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam likes Zayn. Zayn likes Liam.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>hey i was thinking abut it and we should throw a party!! to celibate your record :)))) xxx</em>
  <br/><em>ops meant celibrate!! :p</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can't see, you've got it bad

**Author's Note:**

> ten years later, part two of three. thanks to betsy for entertaining all of my whining over this dumb fic. oh and it's my birthday today so you're morally obligated to not make me feel like shit about this. 
> 
> beware of a small dose of narry. title from [usher](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3IWTfcks4k)

Zayn woke up with marimbas chiming directly into his ear. He groped around for his iPhone (his iPhone, the one he’d bought himself for his birthday, _he had an iPhone_ ) and swiped the lock, turning off the alarm. He cracked an eye open. 1:37.

He stretched his body out, his toes barely touching the other end of the couch, and wiggled himself so he was propped up on his elbows, his chin hooked over his pillow and mobile resting against the arm of the sofa. He had a few new texts, one from his dad _(loool Zayn turn it on itv ! I was watching and thought of you, love you, call mum)_ , one from Ant _(if u see danny tell him t CALL ME!!)_ and one from Danny _(tell ant u haven’t seen me thanks bro)_. He shot off a reply to his dad, ignoring his friends and resolving not to get between them as it never ended well for anybody. He played around on his phone a bit longer, beat the round of Candy Crush he’d been stuck on for days, and liked a few photos on Instagram before finally sitting up and yawning. He made his way to the bathroom, almost picking up the wrong toothbrush by accident, even though Maryiam’s was electric and purple, his own plain and red. He washed his face and headed out to the kitchen, scratching at his bum and stepping over the empty boxes from the little gifts he’d bought for Danny and himself with his signing bonus.

He distantly felt the pang of worry that plagued him these days; yes, he’d been signed to the label, but for nearly two months now, he’d yet to hear from anyone about cutting an album, maybe an EP, or just going into the studio and getting to see the equipment at all. He tried not to worry too much over it, to take it one day at a time, but it was hard when his dreams were just in sight, yet still as far away as ever. He wanted nothing more than to quit his job at the shop and just _make music._ But he kept his mind right, stayed strong in his belief that it was only a matter of time, and muddled on as best he could.

Zayn shuffled to the fridge, rummaging through boxes and jars and cans, when his mobile rang. His corner of his mouth quirked up at the caller ID before swiping the lock and propping it between his ear and shoulder. “Hey, Liam.”

“Zayn! Hey, man, what’ve you got going on today?”

He narrowed his eyes at a container of unmarked Chinese food, taking a whiff and nearly gagging at the smell of molding lo mein. “Lazing about, I think. Got the day off, I just woke up and I’m scrounging for food.”

Liam groaned, and Zayn pictured him wearing the little grin he got when they teased each other, heart fluttering in his stomach. “It’s nearly two in the afternoon...you make me sick sometimes, you know that?” Zayn laughed, bit his lip. “Anyway, don’t eat just yet - I’ve picked up some food and I could swing by, if that’s alright with you?”

Zayn was just opening the last chocolate pudding, and at Liam’s offer, fumbled it so it landed upside down on the floor with a deceptively neat thump. He quickly took in his surroundings (sink full, bin overflowing, packing peanuts blanketing the floor) and sniffed at his armpit. “Er, how soon would you be here?”

“Mmmm, should be there in about ten? Traffic’s a mess today, and I’d walk, but I don’t want the rice and peas to get cold.”

“Um, no, don’t worry! Take your time, just text me when you get here so I can buzz you up.” He rang off and stared at the floor-pudding before going into a full-blown panic. “Fuck me.”

Where did he even start? In all honesty, he could (sort of) deal with Liam knowing about his abysmal housekeeping skills, but the smell...it just wasn’t pleasant, not at all. His hair was a messy flop on his head from sleeping on it for eight hours, and his contacts were bothering him so he’d just slipped on his glasses - and, okay, rationally, Zayn knew that Liam probably wouldn’t really even care that he wore glasses, but - they just weren’t at that stage in their relationship where they could look _normal_ in front of each other. Could their thing even be called a relationship? It was mostly Liam coming over, watching a movie or playing video games and talking and sometimes staring at each other, though they hadn’t kissed at all since the day at the studio.

Zayn went into a cleaning frenzy, rinsing dishes and loading the washer. He shoved his basket of clothes into the laundry closet, where it normally went when Liam came over, and cleaned up the mess on the floor as quickly, though perhaps not as thoroughly, as possible. He folded up the sheets on the couch, lit a few candles, binned the old food from the fridge and was just tying off the garbage bag when the buzzer sounded near the door. Zayn rushed to the speaker, trash in hand, and pressed the button. “I’m coming down, hang on!” He snatched up his keys and slipped on his shoes, stepping on the backs of them as he jogged down the couple of flights of stairs.

Bursting out through the doors, he saw Liam standing, one hand in his coat pocket and the other holding a plastic bag. “Going to the skip? Want me to come?”

“Nah, I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder, body already seizing up from the cold. He held his breath and hefted the trash into the skip, dusting his hands off and hurrying back to Liam. “Hi!”

“Hello! It’s cold out here, let’s go up,” Liam said cheerily, waving the food as though Zayn needed the incentive to want to go back inside. Zayn let them into the building, leading the way up the stairs and into his flat.

“Want a beer?”

Liam unwound his scarf, draping it over the umbrella stand by the door. “Do you even drink water anymore, now that you’re eighteen?”

Zayn rolled his eyes and grabbed Liam a can anyway. “You can set up on the coffee table, turn on the telly if you like.”

Liam did, found the remote and took his time arranging the food on the table while Zayn fetched the drinks and silverware. “Is Danny here?”

After finally finding a couple of sets of forks and plates that weren’t dirty, Zayn fell onto the couch, handing Liam his drink and cracking his own open. “Haven’t seen him today,” Zayn said, taking a sip. “Ooh, wait, turn back to _Geordie Shore,_ I haven’t been keeping up.”

“Zayn, that show’s vile,” Liam groaned, “Gaz is the biggest twat in the country.”

“Gaz is the best,” Zayn said indignantly. “It’s Charlotte who’s always making him look bad.”

“Charlotte and Sophie are the only sane ones there!”

The slow smile stretched over Zayn’s face, smirk settling into place as he crossed his arms. “So you know the show, then?”

Liam’s face pinked. “...everybody knows _Geordie Shore._ ”

“Riiiight.” Zayn watched as Liam busied himself with dishing out rice and scooping out chicken and sauce between their plates. “Smells good. Did you go to the same place we went last time?”

“Yeah, since we both liked it so much. Plus the lady who owns it is really nice, gave me some extra plantains, even.”

“That was nice of her,” Zayn said, sipping his beer again before trading out the drink for his plate. They ate in relative peace, breaking the easy quiet to exclaim over the spiciness of the food or argue who the most useless member of the house was. Zayn felt himself falling into the natural rhythm he’d found with Liam, the banter and teasing and long, lingering looks that Zayn still wasn’t entirely sure what to do with.

They were in the middle of one of those staredowns, Zayn struggling to keep his eyes on Liam’s and not on his pink mouth, when Liam cleared his throat. “So...I sort of came over today because I have some news,” he said, wiping his mouth and turning to face Zayn.

Zayn bent a knee up to rest his chin on and bumped his glasses up his nose. “Here I thought you were just coming over for the ambience.” He nodded to the bookshelf, crammed with comics and movies and figurines, that looked like it was one dust bunny away from falling apart.

“Other than that, of course,” Liam said, flicking Zayn’s shin. He swatted Liam’s hand away with a flick of his own. “No, it’s actually quite big news. They wanted to call you in, tell you themselves, but I volunteered.”

Zayn’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t - no, it wasn’t news about his music, because they definitely wouldn’t send Liam over with that - would they? That seemed like something that’d happen in a big office with fifteen people staring at him, smiling thinly and offering their meaningless congratulations. “Oh, er. Alright, then.”

Liam took a long pull of his drink, and Zayn fought down the warring bubbles of irritation and excitement that’d taken up residence in his chest. Liam was clearly enjoying the melodrama of it all, finally finishing his beer and smacking his lips with an _ah!_ “So you know how Niall’s been writing some new stuff? He really wants you to come in and record with him, sort of feel each other out and get some vibes going, you know?”

“Yeah, I - definitely, yeah! I would love that,” Zayn said, nodding effusively and standing, his body seemingly ready to go to the studio right then. He turned in circles, looking for a coat and shoes and - he had to change first, _shower_ first, scrounge up a few quid for a cab, maybe -

Liam stood too, laughing and pulling Zayn out of his fluster with a hand on his wrist. “Hang on, Niall isn’t in today. He’s recording in Sweden for the week.”

Zayn’s shoulders came down from around his ears. “Oh. Okay, sure.”

“But he’ll be back next Tuesday, and I think you’ll be going in straight away.” Liam pulled a stray string at the hem of Zayn’s shirt, wrapping it tight around his finger before letting it go. “This’ll be the first step to putting together a concrete sound for your record. Niall probably wants to find out how you feel about collaborating with other artists, using other people’s material versus writing your own, finding the rest of the production team - ”

“Wait.” Zayn gripped Liam’s arms, digging his fingers in with only the faintest knowledge that Liam was probably very uncomfortable. “Record. _My_ record?” Zayn shook Liam, who was smiling in the most endeared way. “Me?”

“Your album was greenlit for production and recording this morning - god!” Liam barely managed to get the sentence out before Zayn was on him, arms circled tight around Liam’s neck and launching them both backwards. Liam stumbled before catching their balance, and Zayn was sweating and laughing and trying valiantly to keep the wetness in his eyes from spilling over. “Is it alright that I told you? I’m sorry if I ruined the moment for you, like, finding out this massive news at home from me rather than at the company with the execs and all the pomp that goes with it.”

“No, no, it’s - this is perfect, you’re perfect,” Zayn said, feeling overwhelmed and giddy and such affection for the boy playing with that loose string again. “I’m just - trying to take it all in, like - it doesn’t feel real, you know?”

“I’m more surprised it hasn’t happened sooner,” Liam said with a roll of his eyes, “but that’s a record label for you.”

“Thank you,” Zayn said, a bit abruptly. Liam looked surprised, shrugging and opening his mouth to likely brush off the gratitude, but Zayn cupped a hand to the side of Liam’s neck and shook his head. “No, Liam, seriously. Just...thank you so much, for everything you’ve done to help me get to this point. I could never have done it without you. Thank you so, so much.” Zayn pulled him down into another hug, this one gentler but no less sincere. He felt Liam’s arms finally come up around his back, hands warm and solid. They stood like that, silent and squeezing, holding each other up and breathing each other in. Zayn listened to Liam’s heartbeat, a strong and steady pulse that made him feel grounded, almost safe, made him feel -

With a long exhale into Liam’s chest, Zayn knew that the crush he’d been harboring for the past couple of months wasn’t going anywhere.

 

 

Later, after he’d rung his parents and laugh-cried with them over the phone, Zayn finally tracked down Danny to force him to come home to share the news and a spliff. They’d been lying on Danny’s bed with his laptop open and playing _Cosmos: A Personal Voyage_ when Zayn got a text from Liam. _hey i was thinking abut it and we should throw a party!! to celibate your record :)))) xxx_ immediately followed by _ops meant celibrate!! :p_

Zayn smiled at his phone while Danny rolled his eyes. “I can always tell when it’s Liam, always get the most obnoxious look on your face.”

Zayn ignored him. _that could be cool, yeh :))) x_

Catching a glimpse of Zayn’s phone screen, Danny made gagging noises, pausing the show and rolling off the bed with a thump. “‘M putting on the kettle, want any?”

“Yes, please.” _ok it can be at my place and you can invite all youre mates and i could invite some of mine. have a friend harry he knows lots of peopleee_

Zayn wasn’t sure if he wanted a lot of famous people he wanted to impress to see him being drunk and stupid... Almost as if Liam could read his mind, Zayn got a follow-up text. _im going to invite tommo and niall but not to many of my coworkers, if thats alright with you? and harry’s mates are ace, trust me :) xx_

Zayn turned it over in his head, debating his own comfort levels with how Liam would feel if he rejected his offer. He typed his response before he could change his mind. _sure! maybe next weekend, after i’ve started working with niall? :) x_

_thatd be good, yea!! i’ll give harry your number so you 2 can meet up for tea or somthing xxxx_

_ok :) xx_

Zayn was still biting his thumb and grinning at his and Liam’s conversation, scrolling up and down the messages with a happy sigh. Danny appeared in the doorway, gingerly holding two steaming mugs in both hands with a package of biscuits wedged under his arm. “Hey, Romeo, mind giving me a hand? Swear, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get on with you once you’re famous, you’re already becoming a diva.”

“Knobhead,” Zayn sniffed. “You won’t be coming with me to the party Liam’s having next weekend, then?”

“Now, hang on,” Danny said, setting down the tea on the nightstand and rejoining Zayn on the bed, legs crossed under him. “Don’t talk crazy. Someone’s got to keep an eye out, what if someone tries to get fresh with you?”

“I _wish_ Liam would,” Zayn sighed, flopping back on the bed and curling up so his knees touch his chest.

“Steady on, mate.” Danny patted his shoulder and offered him a biscuit, which Zayn accepted gratefully. They fell quiet, Zayn chewing and Danny tapping out a rhythmless beat on Zayn’s head. “About this party, Maryiam’s invited too, right? Ow!” Danny rubbed his thigh where Zayn bit him, leaving a dark brown ring of chewed-up biscuit on his trouser leg. “You’re sensitive when you haven’t gotten laid, man.” Zayn stuck out his tongue, showing Danny the food still in his mouth. “Fucking disgusting!”

They finished watching the episode of _Cosmos,_ Zayn sitting up to sip his cold tea, too lazy to get up and reheat it. Danny clicked to the next episode, Zayn’s eyes already heavy and struggling when his phone pinged. He swiped the message with a yawn. _Hiiii, this is Harry, Liam’s friend? Just seeing if you’d like to meet up sometime soon, we can start planning the party. Gonna be epic, mate!_

Zayn imagined replying, tapping out his affirmative response and making a good first impression with Liam’s friend, but instead fell asleep with his cheek pressed to the screen.

 

 

Harry turned out to be busy up until the day that Zayn was scheduled to meet Niall at the studio. When Zayn told him why he couldn’t make their lunch plans, he got back _Nonsense! Niall and I are cool, I’ll just meet you at the studio, if that’s alright with you_

Zayn, by then wondering what exactly it was that Harry did for a living, sent his _sure! :)_ and set his mobile down on the lip of the sink. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, running his fingers over his face speculatively. He’d slowly been starting to lose his baby fat, rounded cheeks and soft jaw giving way to something more reminiscent of Doniya and his parents, higher and sharper. He thought he’d maybe grown a few centimeters since the last time he’d gotten his height taken, and as an eighteen-year-old boy - eighteen-year-old _man,_ he felt ready for whatever could possibly be thrown at him today. Despite Liam’s reassurances that it would be casual meetings as he was starting out, Zayn couldn’t help but feel like it was a test to see if he was worthy, if he had the talent and dedication and drive to make it in the business.

When Zayn’d fussed over his clothes the night before, Danny had just stood by shaking his head while Maryiam helped him decide between a polo and a button-down. “Why don’t you own any slacks? Everyone has at least one pair for, like. Funerals and weddings and that,” Maryiam said with a shake of her head. She was holding out two collared shirts, one navy and one black.

“I do have a pair, from year eight or something. I like the black more than blue, but maybe they’ll think it’s too boring?”

Danny, who’d been leaning against the countertop with his legs crossed and eating a bowl of cereal, snorted into his milk. “Zayn. One’s black, one’s almost black.”

“It makes a difference, Danny,” Maryiam huffed before Zayn could do it himself. “There’s science supporting stuff like this, you know. Like the study that shows that red cars get more traffic citations than any other color? Human beings are very easily manipulated creatures.”

“Don’t think that’s true, but alright, have at it.” Danny shrugged and returned to his cereal, crunching judgementally on his Coco Pops.

In the light of day, he did feel a bit ridiculous fretting over navy versus black (ultimately deciding on the navy), but it’d helped his nerves to focus on something other than the fact that his hopes and dreams were riding on if Niall was really, truly impressed by what he had to offer.

Not a big deal, really.

Zayn’s phone buzzed, sounding twice as loud against the tile. _just wanted to say good luck today, have fun an see you saturdayyyyyy xxx_

Zayn’s heart squeezed, the smile reserved for Liam coming out full force, tongue against his teeth and stupid with happiness. How he’d been in denial for so long, he’d never know, but he was, without a doubt, wholly infatuated with Liam Payne. God, he was a complete sadsack.

With one last comb of his fingers through his hair, Zayn spritzed a bit of Danny’s cologne and collected his phone, patted his pockets for his keys and wallet, and set off for the tube.

As he walked up to the studio, ducking between bored-looking fans and a few paparazzi, he realized he’d left his cigarettes on the coffee table and bit back a curse. He jogged up the steps to the front, heard a few people wondering behind him if they were supposed to know who he was, and, shivering, stepped into the warmth of the lobby. A burly guy with a shaved head and an earpiece stood stalwart and cool next to a dainty looking girl behind a desk.

“Hi!” she said with a pleasant smile. “Do you have an I.D.?”

“Um, yeah.” Zayn fumbled for his wallet. “I’m Zayn, Zayn Malik? I’m supposed to see Niall...” He blankly realized he had no idea what Niall’s last name was, and trailed off uncertainly.

The security guy shifted his weight while the woman typed a bunch of things in really, really quickly. The clacking of her nails against the keys reminded Zayn of when Doniya first got fake nails put on and showed them off all the time by drumming her fingers on any hard surface she came across.

After standing there for some time, gazing at his shoes and at the beige walls in turn, the woman hit the final key with finality and slid his driving license across the desk toward him. “Alright, then! You should be clear to go, Mr. Horan is in studio B, which is just down this main hallway, the first right and then the door on the left. Huge windows, can’t miss it. I expect your badge will be finished by the time you’re done today, but if it isn’t, you can pick it up the next time you’re here. That sound alright to you, Mr. Malik?” Zayn nodded. “Okay! Good luck today!”

“Thank you,” Zayn said, feeling a bit stupid for not asking her name or saying more than five words to her. He nodded to the security guy, just checking that he wasn’t going to be tackled to the ground if he tried to venture further in the building, and he flashed Zayn a brief smile and a thumbs up. With that vote of confidence, Zayn took a deep breath and made off down the hallway.

He passed by what was presumably studio A, and his eyes widened as he realized that Louis Tomlinson was sitting on the couch, legs crossed at the knee and chin in hand, looking down at his phone. Upon further inspection, he noticed that Aiden Grimshaw was in the booth, eyes closed and neck strained as he belted into the mic. Aiden Grimshaw and Louis Tomlinson were actually friends. That was so fucking _cool._

Louis glanced up and Zayn turned away and sped down the hallway, heart pounding with adrenaline. He kept his head down and followed the receptionist’s directions, finally getting to studio B without further mishap. Zayn paused outside the door, fingers hovering uncertainly over the door handle. Er...

A guy with very big hair sat on Niall’s lap, an arm slung round his shoulders and long legs draped over the arm of the chair. Niall had a hand up the back of the guy’s shirt, a lazy smirk playing over his lips as the guy whispered in his ear. Zayn was confused.

Niall glanced at the door and, seeing Zayn, waved him in. “Alright, Zayn?”

“Yeah, hi...didn’t mean to interrupt, sorry,” Zayn said, carefully shutting the door behind him.

“Nah, didn’t interrupt nothing, mate. Go on, sit down and get comfortable. There’s a mini fridge in the corner just there, and I’m sure we can find some snacks if you get hungry.”

“I love that you’ve given him a basic rundown on the food situation before introducing me,” the guy, still very much on Niall’s lap, said affectionately. He disentangled himself from Niall smoothly, not looking ruffled at the awkward position Zayn discovered them in. “I’m Harry, nice to meet you.”

Harry Harry? _Liam’s_ Harry? “Hey, good to meet you,” Zayn said, putting out a hand to shake. Harry slapped his palm instead, grinning when Zayn looked affronted and Niall pinched his elbow.

“I don’t shake hands. It’s so impersonal, you know? In Shakespeare’s time, right, touching hands was as intimate as sex. And, like, as a culture, you know, we humans’ve gone and turned it into this...cold, formal greeting. ‘S not on, mate. Shame.”

Zayn honestly didn’t know what to say to that, and judging by the way Niall rolled his eyes behind Harry’s back, he wasn’t exactly expected to respond intelligently. He settled for a simple, “Right.”

Niall swiveled to face his laptop. “Harry, if you aren’t going to contribute anything useful to this meeting, I’d suggest you go find Louis to play with.”

Harry dropped heavily onto the sofa, sulking a bit. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Good. Come on, Zayn, pull up a chair so we can have a chat about the music.”

 

 

As it turned out, Zayn and Niall had similar ideas about his sound; he’d been afraid of being pigeon-holed into a wannabe Usher, but the ideas that Niall pitched to him added an extra something to it, and had him even more excited and eager to start the recording process now.

After what Zayn considered to be a successful few hours of brainstorming and listening to the tracks Niall’d come up with in Sweden, Harry interrupted with a groan. “Hey, come on. ‘M hungry, I know at least Niall is hungry, and you’ve been at it forever. Let’s eat!”

Zayn slumped in his chair, resting a hand over his gurgling stomach. “I could eat, yeah.”

Niall dragged Zayn and Harry out the back way, assuring them that he knew a place nearby. That place turned out to be a dingy-looking pub with windows that looked like they hadn’t been washed since the late 90s.

“Alright, lads, first round’s on me - we’re toasting to Zayn and the new record!”

Harry whooped, clapping Zayn on the shoulder and throwing his drink back with a smack of his lips. “Ah!”

They settled in a booth, Niall and Harry sat across the way from Zayn with a basket of chips in the middle. “So I hear Liam’s throwing you a party, eh?” Niall said through a mouthful of chips, dark brown eyebrows wiggling under his soft blonde fringe. “That’s awfully sweet of him, wouldn’t you say, Haz?”

“Oh, yes,” Harry said with a knowing look. “But Liam always turns up the charm when he meets someone he likes.”

“Very true, very true.” Niall tapped his chin. “What d’you think of him, then? Good sort, right?”

“Er, yes,” Zayn nodded, “he’s very...good.”

“Good, good,” Harry agreed solemnly.

“Good!” Niall smiled. “Can you believe he isn’t seeing anyone at the moment? Liam’s always been the boyfriend type, being single just doesn’t suit him.”

“Oh,” Zayn said intelligently, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. These were Liam’s mates, they knew him best, talked to him and knew what he liked. “Has he...is he...does he have someone in mind?”

Niall glanced at Harry. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he does. Liam’s very honest, not to mention complete shit at being subtle. When he’s interested, there’s almost nothing he won’t do for the person who’s got his attention.”

Zayn’s blood was so hot, it felt like the temperature’d been raised a hundred degrees. He took a drink in an attempt to wet his throat, but he swallowed wrong and ended up coughing himself into a frenzy. “Jesus, fuck.”

“You two have got it bad for each other,” Harry said, reaching over the table to thump him on the back while Zayn gasped for air. “This party is going to be so amazing that you two will have no choice but to have great sex.” Zayn’s throat was shot from coughing, but evidently Harry didn’t expect a response, and Zayn wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. “You should come over to Liam’s a few hours before the party’s set to start. I’ll kick him out and help you get ready, give you your very own American teen romcom makeover!”

Niall waved a chip at Zayn. “Harry’s quite good at that. He’s the one who fixed my hair for me, used to have the worst homemade dye job.”

Harry turned his grin up all the way, dimples deep and teeth white. “Trust me, Zayn. Put yourself in my hands, and I won’t steer you wrong!”

 

 

When Zayn showed up to Liam’s on Saturday afternoon, he’d admit that he had his qualms about putting his fate into a near complete stranger’s hands. Harry was odd, and he could not, for the life of him, figure out what his and Niall’s relationship was exactly. But Niall trusted him, and he seemed to be the type that, even if he himself didn’t dress it, knew something about fashion.

Just as Harry was opening the door, the thought occurred to him that his first time seeing Liam’s flat would not, in fact, be with Liam. “Hey! Come in, come in.”

Zayn just stood in the doorway, mouth halfway parted in shock. Harry had some sort of...American flag headband pushing his hair back, and was wearing an open flannel shirt, showing off a rather large butterfly on his torso, and denim cut-offs.

To say Zayn was apprehensive about Harry’s dress sense didn’t begin to cover it.

And then Louis fucking Tomlinson was strolling out of what appeared to be the kitchen, a bowl of ice cream cupped in his hands. “Don’t let Harry’s lack of style scare you off. Doesn’t know how to dress himself, but knows all about fixing up other people.”

Harry poked Louis in the cheek. “I resent that.”

Louis pushed Harry off, sticking a hand out to Zayn. “Hiya, I’m Louis. I’m guessing you’re Zayn, you’re all Liam seems to talk about these days!”

“Hel-lo,” Zayn said, voice cracking.

Harry moved behind Louis, draping himself over his back and letting his arms hang over Louis’ shoulders. “Don’t mind him, Lou promises not to say a word while we’re pulling together your look.”

Louis patted Harry’s hand. “I didn’t promise that at all.”

“Come on then, let’s go to the guest room, I’ve got a whole rack of clothes sorted out.” Harry lead Zayn by the arm through the front-room, Louis trailing behind with his ice cream in tow. _“Voilà!”_

Harry wasn’t lying; there was literally a rack of clothing along the wall, with rows of shoes laid out on the bed and a jewelry box on the dresser. Zayn ambled closer to the clothes, running a hand over the fabric. “You didn’t, like...buy all of this, did you?”

Harry laughed, picking up a measuring tape and looping it around his own neck. “God, no! I’m not made of money, mate. This is all borrowed.”

Borrowed...like shoplifted?! His alarmed eyebrows must’ve given him away, because Louis chimed in. “Haz is a stylist, they actually _are_ borrowed. He isn’t a sociopathic kleptomaniac.” Louis clinked his spoon against the bowl. “As far as I know, anyway.”

Harry shot Louis a dirty look before gesturing for Zayn to turn around. “Go on, pick out a couple of things you like while I get your measurements.”

When Zayn picked out what he thought were nice but comfortable options, he discovered that he and Harry had extremely different ideas about what constituted a ‘party-appropriate outfit.’ “Harry, I’m sorry, but I’m not wearing a shirt that costs more than what I make in a week. Just isn’t going to happen.”

“But it would look _so good_ on you,” Harry pleaded, trying to force the long-sleeved mesh shirt over his head. “And it’s way better than what you’ve got picked, ‘s just a plain black t-shirt! Raise your arms, come on, humor me.”

“ _No._ Louis, help me out.”

Louis looked up from the shiny wingtips he kept lacing and unlacing. “He could pull off a top with a simple design on it, just pair it with a nice jacket or something.”

Harry’s eyes were positively gleaming at the mention of even more expensive clothing he could foist onto Zayn. “ _Yes._ I have the perfect chartreuse houndstooth print peacoat, it’d look amazing on you.”

Louis immediately jumped in. “Is it the same one you tried on me for the last magazine shoot? That thing is fucking _hideous,_ why do you insist on forcing people to wear it?”

Harry sniffed indignantly, putting back the coat he was already pulling from the rack. “Well. I’m sorry that you can’t understand _high fashion,_ Louis Tomlinson.”

Zayn stood by and watched as they bickered over trousers, Louis fighting for black jeans while Harry gesticulated wildly with a pair of plaid golf shorts. He had many regrets, Zayn did, but being Harry’s guinea pig on the night that would likely be a momentous turning point in his and Liam’s relationship just barely beat out being caught smoking in the sitting room by his mother when he was fifteen.

Harry suddenly went very still, his head cocking to the side, squinting as he took Zayn in from top to bottom. “Hmmmm.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. We’ve been trying to start with the clothes, right...but really, the whole thing’ll revolve around the hair.” Harry nudged Zayn until they were in the bathroom, not stopping until Harry stood behind Zayn in front of the sink. Harry’s brow was furrowed in the mirror, hands hovering around Zayn’s head like it was a crystal ball and Harry was divining the perfect style. He threaded his fingers through Zayn’s hair, first pulling it straight back, then parting it to the side, and then, with a look of total clarity and a self-satisfied smile, slowly stood his hair up.

“...have you ever thought of wearing your hair like this?”

 

 

Harry knew a _lot_ of people. They were also very alternative; lots of unnatural-colored hair, facial piercings, thick-framed glasses. The music was loud and indecipherable, and the girl singing sounded like a demonic princess. It wasn’t bad though, just very… _Harry._

Zayn was in the kitchen, standing by the sink and nursing the beer he’d been working on for half an hour. It was warm and cheap, and he wasn’t particularly enjoying it, but he really didn’t want to look sloppy in front of Liam.

If he ever _saw_ Liam.

When all the guests had started to arrive earlier, Liam had been among them, greeting Harry and Louis with handshakes and back-thumps. He’d hugged Zayn, keeping his arm around his shoulders while he chatted to Harry about who he was expecting to turn up, the liquor he bought with Liam’s credit card, and the sectioned off master bedroom.

“Trust me, this party’s going to be wicked, minimal damage, pinky-swear,” Harry’d yelled over Drake, doing this odd dance type thing that made him look like he was on a pogo stick. Not that Zayn could dance, but still.

And then Liam had gone off to go mingle, promising Zayn he’d be right back, and Niall showed up and both Louis and Harry were hanging all over him, and suddenly Zayn was alone in the kitchen, trying to choke down his not-very-good room temperature beer.

The other guests weren’t impolite or rude; they introduced themselves, congratulated him, told him of the buzz surrounding him because of his links to Niall and Liam. But Zayn could only half-heartedly thank them, his mind preoccupied with think about what Liam was doing or who he was talking to or if he was thinking about him.

His single-minded obsession with Liam’s whereabouts relaxed when Danny and Maryiam showed up. “Finally, where’ve you been?!”

Danny jerked his head to Maryiam. “You really have to ask, man?”

Maryiam jabbed Danny in the ribs and smoothed her skirt out. “But I look great, don’t I?”

“As always,” Zayn said, Maryiam preening and Danny rolling his eyes. “Go on, have a drink.”

The three of them stayed in their tightly knit triangle, Danny’s arms wrapped around his girlfriend’s hips while she leaned against him. Zayn had never been jealous of their relationship before, it mostly consisted of Danny putting his foot in it and Maryiam acting indignant for a day or two before making up and starting the process over again. But right now, his best mate and his girl swaying a little to the beat and being comfortable and so _couple-y,_ Zayn was undeniably jealous. He felt guilty for thinking it, especially because of all the fuss that’d been made to throw it, but he couldn’t help it; this was worst party ever.

Of course, this was when the host of said terrible party chose to turn up, wobbling over to where Zayn stood, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “The man of the hour, Zayn. Zayn Malik. And Danny! Hi! And you must be Maryiam! Hello!” Liam threw a heavy arm over Zayn’s shoulders, forcing him to crouch under the extra weight, and stuck out a hand to Maryiam, who took it with a smile. The corners of Zayn’s mouth turned up into a smile against his will, his own arm coming up around Liam’s waist to squeeze him closer. “You’re a nice pair. Suit each other.”

“Er, thanks?” Maryiam scrunched her nose, pulling Danny closer. “He’s alright, I suppose.”

Danny scowled, tugging on a lock of her hair. “Hey, you. Hush it.”

Liam shook his head hard, knocking his chin into Zayn’s forehead. Ow. “No, no. It’s good, ‘cause - ‘cause I thought Danny and Zayn, like. Had something. But you and Danny, ‘s much better, I think. Better for me, too.”

Nobody said anything. Zayn stared up at Liam, eyes tracing the lines of his jaw, his neck, the bob of his Adam’s apple. He was pleased, so very, very pleased. It was so coming-of-age movie, the way Liam was drunkenly confessing his feelings for Zayn in front of his friends at a party. Stupid and ridiculous and Zayn was so wholly charmed. Liam’s eyes were halfway closed, a look of serene content settling on his face. Danny cleared his throat. “Well. Maryiam and I think so, too.”

The air felt thick, warm, and Liam’s thumb rubbing at the short hairs on the back of Zayn’s neck didn’t do anything to calm the acrobatics in his stomach. Zayn spread the hand on Liam’s side, surreptitiously getting a feel for hard bones and muscle. “I didn’t tell you earlier, but it’s nice, your hair, the - ” Liam swooped at his own hair, “ - tall. I like it a lot.” Liam paused. “I like you a lot.”

Zayn swallowed, mind blanking on any sort of flirtatious comeback or witty banter. He was proud he could even form words with the way Liam’s cheek kept grazing his. “Thanks. It was Harry’s idea, the quiff. Says it pulls my look together, or something.” God, he was a total knob.

“You look good,” Liam said, fiddling with the button of Zayn’s denim jacket. “Like a prince.”

Danny coughed. “Maryiam, I think I saw a...thing over here, let’s go look at it.” Maryiam widened her eyes at Zayn, jerking her head toward Liam like he needed the hint.

She brushed by him anyway, kissing him on both cheeks and whispering, “Make me proud, hon. _Do him.”_

As soon as his friends had walked away, Liam was pulling Zayn toward him by the hem of his jacket. “I could, like...show you my bedroom, if you want to see it?” The rushing in Zayn’s ears left the room foggy and the music dim, and he could only nod and hook his finger around Liam’s pinky, following Liam down a hallway partially hidden behind a bookcase that Harry’d pushed over. The walls were lined with frames; Liam’s first magazine cover, a few Gold records and one Platinum, a signed football jersey and a photo of Liam with his parents and sisters. Zayn’s heartbeat thrummed away while he took in Liam’s private area, his inner sanctum. Liam’s Fortress of Solitude.

“So, this is it.” Liam’s bed was huge; it took up most of the center of the room, the dark, smooth finish of the wood mutedly reflecting in the yellowish light of the bedside lamp. There was a pile of clothes next to the dresser, which was cluttered with crumpled up receipts and unorganized bottles of cologne. Seeing how Liam lived, like a regular bloke who couldn’t be bothered to throw his dirty laundry into the hamper not two feet away, melted away some of the steeliness in Zayn’s spine.

“It’s nice,” Zayn murmured, wetting his lips, eyes dipping down to soak up the pink of his lips, so saturated with color and plump and _pretty._ Zayn’s heart was thrumming with nerves, but the looseness in his limbs and the easiness of just being with Liam gave him the confidence to close the little gap between their bodies.

“You’re nice.” Liam’s breathy whisper was lost in his movement, body smooth and predatory as he walked Zayn backwards, keeping his eyes steadily on Zayn’s until he hit the edge of the bed. Liam leaned in, and Zayn’s breath hitched in anticipation of finally feeling Liam’s lips on his again -

Their mouths collided, the heat between them alighting instantaneously, Zayn’s breath coming hard and fast. Liam’s hands came up to his waist, stroking down his sides with a gentleness that didn’t match the clashing of their teeth and tongues in the slightest. Zayn made a noise, what could potentially have been called a whimper, and curled his arms around Liam’s back, digging his fingertips between his shoulder blades. He was so dizzy with it, tipsy on kissing Liam, that he had to break away to push his face into Liam’s neck, tongue tasting the salt of his skin and the chemicals in his cologne.

“Zayn,” Liam groaned, trying and failing to wriggle his hands into Zayn’s skintight jeans. “I’ve wanted - want to touch you, please, can I?”

“God,” Zayn said, rocking his hips back into Liam’s hands. “Yeah, go on, please.”

Liam kissed him once more, one last, white-hot flash before breaking away. He shimmied down the bed, inching Zayn’s shirt up and over his head and tugging off his jeans. Zayn helped him strip away the boxer briefs as well, clothes kicked to the far corner of Liam’s bed.

Being naked in front of the still fully-clothed boy he’d been pining after did little to put Zayn at ease. Just as he started turning in on himself, self-consciousness seeping back in with the chilly air, Liam gazed up at him with bright eyes. It boggled his mind, that Liam had the capacity to be so inherently sexy and cute at the same time. Zayn pushed his thumb against Liam’s bottom lip, eyes heavy with affection and desire. “Tell me if you want me to stop, right?” He soothed fingers over Zayn’s hip bones, rubbing circles into the dark heart inked there. “Think I’m gonna suck you off, if that’s alright with you.”

“That’ll be good, yeah,” Zayn said smooth as anything, although he choked a little as he mentally prepared himself; remember to keep swallowing, keep breathing _oh fuck._

Liam nosed along Zayn’s cock, breathing hot air over it that made Zayn’s toes clench in anticipation. His dark eyes found Zayn’s, and the mischievous little smile that played over his face made Zayn fist one hand at his own hair, all of Harry’s hard work ruined in one gesture. “Please...”

Liam brought his elbows closer together, spreading Zayn’s legs further apart in the process. His legs creaked at the stretch, and he bent his knees a little to give Liam more room. His stomach tightened when Liam slipped his fingers between Zayn’s, twining them together and finally parting his lips just slightly to give a wet, tender kiss to his dick. Liam pulled back a bit, letting his full bottom lip drag over him. He watched helplessly on as Liam played with his cock, sliding his lips up and down the shaft, groaned when he took just the head in his mouth and hollowed his cheeks around it, tongued at the slit with his free hand spread across Zayn’s hip. The pounding bass of the music still blaring in the living room assured they wouldn’t be overheard, but Zayn was still embarrassed, doing his best to bite back the little gasps and groans that Liam coaxed out of him.

Zayn closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the headboard when Liam finally started sucking him off properly. He relaxed under the rhythmic push and pull of Liam’s mouth, the hand still gripping his head moving down to massage Liam’s shoulder. Zayn felt him suck down a little further, taking in a bit more of his cock with every pass. Liam paused then, making Zayn look down to see why he’d stopped. Liam smirked and rolled his eyes. “Typical. Only looking at me ‘cause I don’t have your dick in my mouth.”

“What - no, I’m not!” Zayn was indignant, sitting up a little and making Liam laugh and push him back down, sliding a hand across his chest and petting him back into complacency. He opened his mouth wide, and went down - down, down, _down,_ gagging a little but pushing through until his lips closed around the base of Zayn’s cock. Zayn gripped Liam’s hair with a gasp, curling up and pushing his head down just enough to get him choking again. Liam pulled off with his own gasp of air, a messy trail of saliva and precome stringing between his prick and Liam’s mouth.

“Shit, sorry - ”

“No problem,” Liam coughed, fisting Zayn’s cock even tighter. His words were slow and throaty, and every one of Zayn’s senses felt overdosed on his voice, his smell, his touch. “I don’t mind, if you want to.”

Zayn didn’t even try to hold back his groan at the casual offer, hands woven in Liam’s hair. He pushed in slow, tentatively using his grip on Liam’s head to pull him down on his cock. When Liam didn’t stop him, opened his mouth wider instead, Zayn rolled his hips up, lightly fucking into his mouth with stilted thrusts that touched his cockhead to the back of Liam’s throat. Zayn’s face was hot, flushed with how wet it sounded every time he dicked up into Liam’s mouth, eyes rolling back when Liam gagged. He’d only seen it in porn, had never experienced anything like it, and he was proud he’d lasted this long without shooting off. “Fuck, gonna come - ”

Liam sat back on his knees, spitting thickly over his fingers. “Hang on, not yet.” He held Zayn’s prick gently with his clean hand, wet fingers slipping over his perineum. “In the drawer, if you’re okay with it - ” Zayn’s heart leapt into his throat, legs involuntarily squeezing Liam’s shoulders, “ - just lube, there’s some lube if you want - ” his fingers trailed lower to rub at Zayn’s arse. Zayn relaxed and nodded, feeling around in the nightstand for it.

Liam had to wipe his hands off on the sheets to get the cap off, wrinkling his nose up at Zayn who giggled at the concentrated way he held his tongue between his teeth. As Liam slicked his fingers, Zayn shifted, legs opening wider. “I’ve done this before, so, like. You don’t have to be so careful, or worry or whatever.”

Liam gave him a little smile, nodding his head against Zayn’s thigh. “Alright. Ready?” He got on his elbows, circled a finger around Zayn’s hole, dipped in. Zayn’s breath hitched, then stuttered when Liam pushed further in and took the head of Zayn’s cock back between his lips. His mouth, his fucking _mouth,_ pursed over the slit, then brushed up and down the underside. Zayn squirmed, legs tightening around Liam’s sides.

It was sloppy and uncoordinated; Zayn could tell Liam was trying to match the rhythm of his mouth to the push and pull of his fingers, but it was slightly off, and that was probably the only reason he hadn’t come yet. Zayn curled his toes into Liam’s ribs as he tried to figure out a way to encourage Liam to focus on one or the other without offending him. “Want to kiss you, come up, up.” Liam pulled off, his mouth so obscenely wet and red and beautiful, and Zayn forgot to be turned off by the spit and precome and tongue suddenly in his mouth.

Without any further guidance, Liam kept his face in Zayn’s neck and hair and dedicated his whole effort to turning Zayn into putty. His index and middle fingers were thick and warm and each thrust made Zayn’s body roll with it, back arching and hips squirming. Liam kissed him again when he reached deep, Zayn gasping into his open mouth when he finally felt it, pleasure flooding his veins. “Found it?” Liam whispered against his chin, fingers pressing on him, in him, scraping his teeth over Zayn’s breastbone. “I’ve got you, lovely.” His thrusts were getting more insistent, pressure building up and up and up, Zayn’s fingers groping along Liam’s back, sinking into the dips of his muscles for leverage.

Zayn was being wound up tighter, legs clenching harder around Liam with the increasingly frantic pace of his fingers. Zayn rocked back onto Liam’s hand hard, not consciously aware of what he was doing or what was happening, but relying entirely on what felt right. “I’m almost - ” When a third finger teased at him, Zayn’s hips jutted forward, cock grazing against Liam’s skin where his shirt had ridden up. “There, there!” Zayn shouted through a belly-deep groan of utter euphoria, the pleasure from his orgasm coursing through him and leaving him boneless and happy. He was floating in the clouds, even the cooling come on his stomach not enough to drag him back to Earth.

It was only the rhythmic bump of Liam’s right fist against his stomach that roused Zayn out of his daze. Zayn watched Liam with hooded eyes, thumbs massaging the sharp nip of Liam’s waist. He buried his face against Zayn’s shoulder, biting down with a long moan as Liam wanked himself off. Keeping one hand at his side, Zayn brought the other up to Liam’s forehead, smudging the sweat at his hairline and nosing a kiss to his ear. He wanted to say something, anything to let Liam understand how amazed he was by him, how much he liked him and how beautiful he was. The closest he could get was to take Liam’s earlobe between his teeth, sighing and tugging and reaching a hand to grasp at Liam’s cock.

Liam grunted and there was a warm splash over Zayn’s stomach, and Liam dropped down to pillow his head on Zayn’s outstretched arm, turning his face into his side and breathing deep. Zayn sent up about a hundred grateful prayers that he’d put on an extra coating of antiperspirant. Liam wrenched up a corner of the bed sheet, using it to wipe away the mess.

Long minutes passed before Liam finally spoke into Zayn’s ribcage. “Don’t wanna go back to the party. Wanna stay with you.”

Zayn’s heart felt floaty and full in his chest. “Yeah, I want that too.” He combed his fingers through Liam’s hair, running soft fingertips along his scalp. Liam thumbed at Zayn’s belly button, drumming his fingers to the beat still pounding through the bedroom walls. “Loud.”

Liam sighed. “Haz’s known for having these, like, never-ending ragers. Could last ‘til three, could last ‘til nine. ‘S out of our hands now.”

Zayn’s fingers move down to slip under the neck of Liam’s shirt, rubbing over the knob at the top of Liam’s spine. They were quiet, just breathing and touching each other. Zayn’s eyelids were heavy as he stared at the ceiling fan, watching the blades rotate lazily, steady and hypnotic. When he finally spoke, his voice had a little rasp of sleep in it. “I think...I think Danny’s staying with Maryiam tonight, if you want to go to mine.”

Liam wiggled around until his chin was jutting into Zayn’s shoulder. “Yeah? You wouldn’t mind?”

“‘Course not,” Zayn scoffed, hand moving back up to the top of Liam’s head to ruffle his hair. “I like spending time with you. Idiot.”

Zayn felt Liam’s eyes on him, and glanced down to find Liam staring at him with a glassy, unblinking gaze. “I really like being with you, too. Going out to eat, watching movies. Even just messing around on our phones, not talking, I like being around you.” He bit his lip, then leaned up and kissed Zayn, tongue slipping into his mouth, which Zayn happily curled his own around. Liam rolled over to hover over Zayn, one hand tilting Zayn’s chin up to guide his mouth better.

After two, three, seven more kisses, Liam pulled away. “I’d better phone a taxi service, else I’ll just end up sucking you off again.”

“I wouldn’t object to that,” Zayn said, grinning at Liam’s look of exasperation. “Fine, fine, ring a cab.”

Forty-five minutes and one heavy petting session later, Zayn and Liam stumbled down the stairs to see that nearly everyone was still here, though they’d mellowed out some. An explanation came in through the wide open doors leading to the balcony, thick, rolling clouds of smoke winding through the living room. They walked hand-in-hand over to where Niall was slumped on the sofa, a pipe resting on his chest, with Louis and Harry flanking him on both sides. “Just saying good night, lads, see you in the morning!”

Niall tipped his head in acknowledgment, while Louis offered up a watery smile. Harry gestured at Zayn’s grip on Liam’s hand, touching his hands together and mouthing _“Shakespeare.”_ Zayn smiled and waved, drawing Liam toward the door.

The car ride was quiet, Zayn and Liam buckled in on opposite sides, hands resting close to one another’s on the middle seat. Looking out the window, at the blurred signs and shops and people, his heart was heavy in the best sense, full up with love for his life, his friends and family and the opportunities and experiences ahead of him. He knew it was too soon think about for too long, and he wouldn’t voice it for a while yet, but some of that fullness belonged to Liam, too.

Zayn sighed, chancing a glance at Liam to see him with his head lolling against the headrest, blinking at Zayn with a drowsy smile. Zayn leaned a little closer to him. “I never told you why I never called, did I?” His voice was quiet, the music in the car down low while the driver hummed along.

Liam shook his head. “I just thought...I don’t know, I thought you thought I was a creepy pervert, I guess.”

Zayn laughed, inching his hand closer to Liam’s to gently slip their hands together, palms grazing with every bump and dip in the road. “No, nothing like that. Sort of the opposite, I guess. I figured you felt sorry for me, and you were just being nice, like, listening to my demo and stuff. And I was a huge fan, and you’re really fit, and it was desperate and weird and I still get embarrassed thinking about it.” Liam squeezed Zayn’s hand, eyes soft and sleepy and judgement-free. “I thought _you_ thought _I_ was a creepy pervert, sleeping with you to get in the business. So I just sort of resigned myself to never seeing you again, you know, so you wouldn’t have to keep pretending to like me?”

“Silly boy,” Liam murmured, fondness slip sliding through his sigh. “I never thought badly of you. And ‘s not pretending if it’s true.” Zayn looked at him, at his easy smile illuminated every couple of seconds by street lamps, and scooted closer to the middle, hooking a finger in Liam’s collar to kiss him. It stayed slow and a little shy, only their hands and mouths touching, the heat that blazed between them cooled down enough for Zayn to feel their thing strengthening, a hot iron being thrust into water.

Arriving at his flat, Zayn helped Liam out of the car, an arm steadied around his waist as they shuffled into the stairwell. The stairs were slow and careful, Liam’s white-knuckled grip on the railing keeping him upright. “Almost there, love, come on.”

Upon being let in, Liam hobbled to the couch and collapsed with a long groan. “I thought I was a bit more sober than that.”

Zayn filled a glass of water from the tap, shrugging out of his jacket and toeing off his shoes with a quiet laugh. “No, you were completely pissed earlier. This is entirely expected.”

“Quiet, you,” Liam said, swatting at Zayn’s knees. “Lie down with me.”

“Let me at least get your shoes off, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Ooh, trousers too, please? Yours too, come, come.”

“Yes, Prince Liam.”

He nudged at Liam’s arm to raise up before climbing on top of him, sliding halfway into the cushions and hooking his leg around Liam’s. Liam circled his arm around him, rubbing his warm palm under Zayn’s shirt, while Zayn’s free hand played with the waistband of Liam’s pants. “Did you have a nice time tonight?”

Zayn pressed a kiss under his jaw, lips tingling from the scruff already coming in. “By far the best party I’ve ever been to.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you could let me know of any glaring errors/tense stuff, i'd suuuper appreciate it!


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